


A Blacksmith's Analysis

by vetech95



Series: Concepts [3]
Category: Granblue Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-09-09
Packaged: 2021-03-07 05:08:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26347612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vetech95/pseuds/vetech95
Summary: As a blacksmith, you take pride in making weapons that best fit the way your client fights. Of course, for most of your renown clientele, a weapon is a constant companion. With your skills, you can't have your weapon interfering with their day-to-day personalities. It's a careful balance.
Series: Concepts [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1908931





	1. Beau

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beau isn't the best fighter. Good enough to hold your own against thieves and thugs, but not soldiers. You have no armor, relying on your intermittent training and high pain tolerance to last you until the battle ends or you get healed, whichever comes first. It doesn't always work though. 

"How did you get it?"

Conversations about Jean's Mark are few and far between, though he's gotten comfortable with you seeing it. 

He scoffs a bit, drink in hand. "I boasted about being the best blacksmith to live." He takes a swig. "I did it so often, that word reached a blacksmith from across the sky." He swirls his drink in his stein. "His husband suggested that we meet, talk shop."

"And you did?"

He nods, taking a drink. "We got along well enough, but there was a competitive..." he pauses, "tension between us."

"Are you sure it wasn't _sexual_ tension?" The sound of the ocean fills the silence after your statement. He never thinks your jokes are funny, unless they're puns. Especially the ones about livestock, for some reason.

"We decided to have a friendly competition, to settle who was better after all. We had to work around our schedules, so finding time to do it was difficult. Word got around again, and we gathered a bit of a crowd on the week we finally decided. Him and his husband decided to travel here, and we shared the shop. The whole island was taking bets." He takes a drink. "It caught the attention of someone who wished to make it more serious then just a friendly little wager."

You drink. You thought it was maybe the husband who cursed him, not some unneeded stranger. "So who won?"

"He did." He stares into his drink before raising his stein and setting it on the bar. "That night I was cornered in a alley by a few men. They knocked me out." The barkeep takes his glass. "I woke up to searing pain in my shoulder, like I'd leaned on the hearth bricks and just stayed there. There was chanting, I think." His glass is in front of him now, foam nearly spilling over the brim. He takes it and another drink. The foam adds to the stubble above his lip. Some small part of you wants to laugh, but it's smothered with a drink. This is a serious moment. "I try to struggle, but I am chained down to the floor." He shakes his head. "I pass out again. When I wake up, I am in a cell bed, my shoulder bandaged. One of them sees me awake, and runs to grab someone else, who brings me food and water. He lets me eat while he explains what they did to me, the curse they gave me." He takes a long drink from his stein.

"That's how you knew what to say when I asked."

He nods.

* * *

You hold his hand as Jean falls asleep, for what may be the final time. He sleeps a lot these days. Which is fine. You knew this would happen one day, but... It feels too soon. It always does, when it matters.

Soon his breathing evens out. You lay a kiss across his knuckles, gently set his hand by his side, and silently get up. Even as you noticed the white spots in his black hair and stubble, the way it took him more blows to get the shape right in his work, you still chose to ignore the classic signs of aging. He didn't show any for the first few years you knew him, why would he now.

It was almost like you forgot you'd taken his curse away, the one that kept him the way he was when he took it. Without it, he was free to age as any other person. So of course he would. He couldn't control it. Besides, it's what he wanted. Perhaps not by passing it on to someone one else, but at least you weren't aging before it.

You pull up your hood against the rain as you make your way to the bar. You've never been drunk, and you plan to find out if you can do that at all tonight.


	2. Kafziel "Kaz"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kafziel knows how to fight, and is a damn good warrior at that. She's quick, precise, and has enough strength to pierce her twin daggers through most enchanted armor. The challenge in her weapons was making sure they could match her. It's the first time you've made weapons for a primal, after all.

"You really don't need to do this, Grace." 

"Beau."

"You don't need to do this, _Beau._ "

"Yes I do." You bend the blade away from you before unclamping it from the vice and holding it at eye level. Still not quite true. You clamp it again, and bend it some more. You check again, nodding. Better. You clamp it upwards from the tang, to keep the blade straight. This is Attempt Fifteen at making a weapon that can change size. Not that you haven't had some successes, of course, but they've all fallen short. Most of them break too easily, you've been muddling through how to maintain the strength of the metal as the size changes. "To do less would tarnish my work."

Kaz stands there. No, wait, her jaw's moving. Great, she's worrying.

You grab a rag, wiping your hands as you speak, "Kaz, whatever it is, spit it out already." For the Astrals' sake, it's been over a century since you were a child. They should stop treating you like one. You put the rag on your shoulder. Well, that's not fair to them, they've gotten better about it in the decades since you've taken your profession.

"You can stop to grieve."

That forces you to pause. It hasn't been long enough for this conversation. Not nearly. You turn to your workbench, picking up the charcoal. You sketch out Attempt Sixteen in a journal you keep here. Maybe you'll need to tweak the enchantment on the metal itself? Fourteen didn't break until she tried to use it on metal, so you're getting closer.

"Beau, did you hear me?"

You nod. There might be some problems with the guard, though you haven't encountered any yet. Maybe you should tweak that spell as well.

"It's only been a few months since Jean died, you can take the time to-"

"I'd rather be working."

"Beau, I'm being serious-"

"As am I!" You accidentally knock your book off as you turn to face her. You hastily pick it up, standing back up straight as you look her dead in the eyes. "I'm tired of grieving, Kaz. I just," you wipe at your tears as they threaten to spill over. You've still got work to do, you can't start crying now. You take a breath, steeling yourself. "I just want to get back to my life." The way it was before these past, what, five decades?

She takes a step closer. "Beau, you aren't like other humans." As if you forgot. Another step from her to you. "You can take all the time you need." Especially now you bear the same curse that kept Jean well and alive for three centuries. Another step, and she puts her hands on your shoulders "Just get some _sleep!_ "

You sigh, and it morphs into a yawn.

"See? Even your body's saying it needs sleep." She gently strokes your cheek. "Besides, wouldn't it be better to tackle this with a fresh mind?"

She has a point. You nod.

"Good. I'm sure Angel will scold you plenty when we get there." Yeah, yeah. Now that you're not working, your fatigue is hitting you like a sack of bricks.


	3. Angel "Mama"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As a doctor, the only thing Angel, or Mama, has to truly worry about is ruffians who think rifling through her materials is the only way they'll receive help. Usually some calming music on her lyre was enough to get them to stop, but Kaz was good for the ones who took the hint too slowly. 
> 
> The lyre is something she's had as long as you've known her, probably longer, given its near-lost engravings. You tried to re-do them once as a surprise, but quickly realized the full intricacy that would take you weeks to do your best at. You ended up asking for permission.

"Hey Mama, can I take a look at that," what's the word, "lyre?"

"Sure dear." She leaves the room.

Kaz leans in, whispering. "Are you actually going to do it?"

You lean in as well, listening for footsteps, whispering back, "I can try, at least!" It's just some engravings, how difficult can it be? Obviously you'll have to get someone else to restring it, but that should be easy, just find out where she goes now.

You hear footsteps. Kaz sits up, shaking her head. "It won't be as easy as you think."

"What won't be easy?"

"Grace wants to find another master."

"I've already found them. It's just a matter of them accepting my offer."

"Really?" Mama walks around the table to hand you the instrument. "What's their name?"

"Jean, from that island with the sea?"

"Oh, I've been there before! I wouldn't mind living there for a few years."

How do you say this? "I..." just say it, the worst she could do is say no!

"Grace?"

You gently pluck the strings of the lyre. "I was hoping to do this one on my own, Mama."

Her face falls. She's going to say no. "Why?" Kaz gets up, taking your plate with her. "You've never wanted to go it alone before. Thank you dear," she says as Kaz grabs her plate.

"Well," how old are you again? "I'm nearly seventy now, I think I can do somethings without you two tagging along."

"But what about us? How often will we be able to see you?"

"I don't know, whenever you could?" You continue plucking away.

"But I'd rather be able to see you whenever I want, not just whenever I could."

"How 'bout a deal?" Kaz says from the sink. "We stay there for three years, then we skedaddle." 

"Two months." 

"Two years." Angel takes the conversation back.

"Six months."

"One year, just to make sure you've settled in."

"Deal."


End file.
